Sunday, January 24, 2010

la poutine 2010

Our alarm heightened with the storm. You: fearing for your life; me: taking it in stride. Through the wind you charted a different course in the sand. The hotel fell back and crushed your car.
my story drew you in, but our sex was furtive. next time, you lolled, you can have it all

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

So this thing is still running?

Damn, I thought I quit this thing like my steroid habit. Oh well, in honor of this shitting phoenix rising back to life, here's the greatest man I ever knew . . . besides myself:

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

le Pouteeen xxxxxxxxxxxjet series

In a while I haven't seen you.

Yes. I know. You've been in Bangalore making tiny computer chips.

Enough small talk. How about I introduce you to my legal counsel.

Hello. I'm Janice's legal counsel. Do you have strife with the amendments she's proposed to the legal bill?

(There occurs an explosion outside the tiny cafe they were slowly enjoying their seltzer water at)

Forget legal. I love you Henry.

(Janice flings herself into Henry's arms. He carries her to the F-16 waiting outside VROOMING its engines).

That was Saturday. Only one of them survived the week.

Sunday, January 17, 2010

Jenni "J-Wowww" Shows Us How Hand Jobs Are Done!

Rock 'n Roll Dance Number Sunday


The fog horn woke us up. I had my glock close by and the shivers stopped for a moment. We were on fire. Fran was dancing in flame and her lower body was melting. I yelled, "cut your fucking losses and run".

basically, we had to jump into the freezing fucking ocean. i charitably threw Fran first and followed with perfect form.


La Pootine

do you remember that story of rimbaud being raped by those soldiers? we always wondered what he meant by the poop deck in that poem about stolen hearts.

do you remember your quiver beneath my spit?

you said that first, when you told me you spoke french well when drunk and i fucked you on a park bench. have you had the homeless yell at you "keep quiet!" while fucking anyone else? doubt it.

i could tell you never liked poetry, and i'm glad you jumped off that building.


In the morning I heard a quiet egg being made. who dares? I put my jumpsuit onn and jumped out the plane. we were in Milan.

i demand soft boiled at 145 degrees farenheit for eggsactly 45 minutes. You like the joke and you sort of think i'm a good guy, but my stare tells you, hey, i killed my dad. you retrieve your digital thermometer and i quietly commend your survival instinct.

stood shocked

i grabbed the glock and the usa today walked slowly through the hotel and became a dude in a disaster.

guess what, i hailed a GD cab and met the Concorde. Ghis is something natural. Please call me on the plane phone 1-800-FRESH.

Tuesday, January 5, 2010